Ishumar

Realworld / Ryko / Village Vert;
2008

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There's no better sign that a genre has come into its own than its diversification. From an international perspective, Kel Tamashek (aka Tuareg) rock and desert blues is young-- its first exposure outside of the refugee camps and temporary settlements it was born in came only this decade, though musicians had been honing the style since the early 1980s and circulating crudely recorded cassettes. As young as it may seem to the outside world, though, Saharan blues is mature, ready to appropriate further influences and claim more territory.

For proof, look no further than Toumast, the latest Tamashek band to go international. Their sound is similar to the desert guitar standard-bearers Tinariwen, but beyond the immediate surface similarity, there's a lot of divergence. Toumast songwriter and guitarist Moussa Ag Keyna and his female cousin Aminatou Goumar formed the group in France, and as one can imagine, living in Paris puts many more sounds at your fingertips than living in the middle of the world's largest desert.

Ishumar, named after a term used in West Africa to describe unemployed Kel Tamashek youths (it's a bastardization of the French "chômeur"), takes the flowing guitars of Tinariwen and spikes them with rock dynamics, funky detours, and even a bit of jazz and hip-hop, all without losing the essence of the music that inspired it. Producer Dan Levy may have something to do with the album's eclectic arrangements as well-- his distinctive bass playing, with lots of melodic phrases, slides, and staccato phrasing, is a huge part of the sound of the record and very different from anything you'd hear on other Tamashek albums.

Levy also contributes kit drumming to a few songs, including "Kik Ayittma", ("Hey! My Brothers!"), which rises suddenly out of its meditative intro into a driving rock passage full of ragged lead guitar and a dexterous vocal from Moussa. He's singing a call to his fellow Kel Tamashek not to give up the cause of freedom, and it's a political cause he's sacrificed for himself. Moussa was wounded while fighting in the desert during the late-80s/early-90s uprising against the governments of Mali and Niger. His wounds, in fact, are what brought him to Paris. He was forced to give up fighting, but discovered he could aid his cause just as well through music.

He and Aminatou, as a duo, can't conjure the same kinds of chants that traditionally deliver the lyrics in their culture's music, but they keep the same spirit, and Aminatou's occasional ululations add a piercing, electrifying accent to certain moments in the music. Together, they balance their musical heritage and their own progressive leanings deftly. Opener "Ikalane Walegh" ("These Countries That Are Not Mine") is a reasonably faithful desert blues tune, with a swaying hand percussion anchor and a pared-down chant, but it saves room for a jazz-inflected sax solo that comes out of nowhere, like a rider over a dune. "Tallyatidagh" ("That Girl") moves from shifting waves of guitar to a startling dance-rock section that seems to nod to Algerian raï.

The most thrilling turn into another genre, though, comes on "Maraou Oran" ("For Twelve Moons"). It's initially a very good piece of desert blues, with a jumping rhythm and superb guitar/bass interplay, but after three minutes it unexpectedly veers into a fragmented, thumping hip-hop passage-- Moussa actually raps well (in Tamashek). It's a brief burst, but it puts a huge charge into the middle of the song, and it's amazing how naturally the passage fits.

Ishumar is but a glimpse at the potential Tamashek guitar music has to mix freely with its counterparts while preserving its unique identity and singularly arresting qualities. In some ways, it's the album that could best serve as a gateway for fans of Western pop and rock into this music, given that it shares many of its dynamic sensibilities-- particularly contrasting sections-- with rock. More broadly, it's just a fantastic album that merits a spin by any half-way adventurous listener.